Let’s Not and Say We Did
The words rumbled heavily in the air, settling stiffly on his lips. If this was the climax of the story, he thought to himself, even the violins would be screeching in disapproval. The cacophony of beautifully frantic pitches melded together in the silence that they shared each other. This could not be the end. This horrible and strained epiphany. The violins built into a crescendo along with the pressure and the room started to feel like an overflowing cup and a gaping hole at the same time.
“He should have killed me.” His voice was strong in its conviction, but cracked all the same. (It would have been easier is left unsaid.)
“Would he have been better off?” Would you?
The only reply given is a small wince and a half-hearted “no.” Even as he thinks about it, just as he’s dwelled on before, the answer is breath wrenching--a shock to the system. The feeling is familiar and all too strong. The shivers that creep up his back and the absent expression that worms its way onto his face; so many long night spent thinking about the ‘what ifs’ and the ‘if onlys’. After the loss of breath and shivering comes flames, roaring up like indignation because how dare they--how dare the world which they live in and the circumstances they are possessed with twist its knife so cruelly. Fate herself conspires only to entertain herself in the only way she can: through pain.
To let the world go to hell in such a way--something truly merciless must have been inflicted upon Fate.
The violins have calmed--if that is even a possibly. This is the part of the soundtrack known as his life where the symbols calm from that of a boiling pot of water to an almost serene simmer. Every once in a while, the violins remind him of their presence; neverending in their sneaky and vile shrieks that sound like teasing. Even the instruments laugh at such a predicament.
The world itself bears that hideous folly.